


Epoch

by the_roci



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, and loving moments, soft boyfriends, these deserve nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_roci/pseuds/the_roci
Summary: Collection of prompts and shorts from tumblr.1. Quentin and Eliot reestablish a new normal. Post-Monster.





	Epoch

**Author's Note:**

> Collecting snap shots of Quentin and Eliot’s time together.
> 
>  [prompt me on tumblr](http://the-roci.tumblr.com/ask)

Their legs are slotted against each other, close, but not quite touching as they examine the cards in their hands. Quentin shifts, brushing his knee against Eliot’s before moving away, creating a ghost of a space that feels as charged as the air around them. Every breath is electric, buzzing with the energy of the storm approaching the city.

Greys and purples have replaced the golden hues that illuminated the apartment and distantly, Quentin thinks about turning on another light. But he likes the way shadows are claiming the walls and furniture, making everything feel heavy. Almost like the air inside the loft is dripping with the gathering storm clouds and closing in on them just as quickly. It’s comforting somehow, tucking him away from the rest of the world until he can finally uncoil and catch his breath.

“Call,” he says, tapping his cards on the table like he’s already won. “Show me what you got, Waugh.”

Eliot leans back in his chair, defeated, but unwilling to completely back down. Genuine amusement pulls at his lips and Quentin feels it roll through him like a rumble of thunder.  "What I got doesn’t seem to mean much when I’m playing with someone who changes the cards.“ There’s no bite to his response, just as easy smile as he throws down his cards to reveal - nothing. Not a straight or a pair, just a useless hand, ready to be taken. 

Quentin’s laugh is easy and so much warmer than the wind picking up outside. “Are you calling me a cheater?” They’re not falling into their old rhythm but finding a new one. Reconstructing something beautiful. “Maybe this is the one thing that I’m actually good at.”

“You’re good at a lot of things,” Eliot says, a little gentler, “unfortunately for me, hustling seems to be pretty far on top of the list.”

It’s cathartic, sitting in the gentle silence with his leg now fully resting against Eliot’s. The warmth from their contact seeps into Quentin, traveling up his body until it settles in his chest and slowly begins thawing the ice that’s formed there. Maybe in a few weeks, he’ll remember what it feels like to completely feel like himself again. Not fractured, split down the middle and doing everything he can to put himself back together. Until then, sitting with Eliot gives him hope in the future again. Like he’s on the cusp of a beginning and there’s nothing stopping him from getting there.

Outside, rain begins to fall, and Quentin lets out a breath he didn’t quite know he was holding. 


End file.
